


Someday bards will sing of us

by iiscos



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, M/M, since i dont know much about hunger games, welp you dont need to know much about hunger games
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-07 08:53:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12837687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iiscos/pseuds/iiscos
Summary: The forest on the other side didn’t look any different, but Marco liked to stare beyond the border and wonder how many acres of land separated him from salty breezes and sun-bleached sand, from lightning over crashing seas.It was by the border where he met Dani.Marco/Dani, a Hunger Games AU





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhiteHeart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteHeart/gifts).



His mother told him that change was a blessing, that God himself had gifted their family with a relative fortune that allowed them to escape the poverty-stricken island of Mallorca and relocate to the wealthiest district in Spain. His mother told him to be thankful, for the new clothes that shielded him from the harsh frost of winter, for the fullness in his belly that for so many nights, he had gone to sleep without. And Marco _was_ thankful— _how could he not be?_ But that didn’t change the fact that he missed their old home and the friends left behind, the vastness of the deep, blue sea beyond white-pebbled beaches, the smell of salt in the air so thick, that he could almost taste it. 

Marco was thankful, but that didn’t change how he hated Madrid, hated the loneliness of their massive estate buried among the dense pine forest, hated the cruelty of his classmates who mocked him for his small stature, his poor ability at combat, his distinctive accent that stamped him as foreign, unwanted—an _impostor_. 

Marco hated Madrid, but Madrid was a life without hunger pains, without raggedy clothes or a broken roofs that leaked when it stormed. His mother told him that change was a blessing, and Marco supposed that it had to be true. 

~~ 

Marco’s family lived on the outskirts, only a few miles from the heavy metal fence that separated them from their neighboring district. Sometimes Marco would wander into the forest, past the thorny bushes and grandfather pines until he reached the farthest point possible, away from Madrid.

The forest on the other side didn’t look any different, but Marco liked to stare beyond the border and wonder how many acres of land separated him from salty breezes and sun-bleached sand, from lightning over crashing seas.

It was by the border where he met Dani. 

“Hey, kid, are you okay?” Dani spotted him first from the other side, “Why are you crying?”

“I—what?” Marco stammered, finally noticing the owner of the voice as he approached—a boy around Marco’s age, with dark hair and dark eyes just like his. “Who are you?” Marco asked, “What are you doing here?”

“My name is Dani. My family lives outside Seville—just a few miles that way.” Dani pointed in the general direction behind him. “Who are you?”

“I’m Marco.” Marco wiped his eyes and nose hurriedly, embarrassment tinging his cheeks. “My family lives just a few miles from here too.”

“How old are you?” Dani asked.

“Twelve.”

“Oh, me too,” Dani livened up, “Or at least I will be in a month and a half. You don’t sound like a _Madrileño_ , though.”

“I’m not,” Marco said, “Or at least, I didn’t use to be. I was born in Mallorca. Have you heard of it?”

“No,” Dani shook his head.

“It’s an island far away in the Balearic Sea, but I’m a _Madrileño_ now. My family moved here a month ago.”

“Oh, that’s a good thing, isn’t it? That’s lucky.”

“Yeah,” Marco shrugged, “I suppose it is.”

~~

Everyday, after a tedious morning of classes and a gruesome afternoon of combat training, Marco would find Dani by the border, just as the sun was beginning to set. They would have an hour or two to themselves, before both of them had to head home, but Marco soon decided that these hours were the best part of his day. 

Dani didn’t go to school much, and his parents didn’t seem to care. His father was a factory worker and his mother a seamstress, and he had two sisters—one older and one younger.

“Salome should stay in school,” Dani explained, “Because she’s smart. She just started third grade, and you can already tell. I’m better off not in school. I’m better off helping my family in other ways.”

“I don’t like going to school here,” Marco confessed, kicking at the pebbles as they walked along the border, “I don’t like my classmates, and I hate fighting them even more. But everyone has to learn how to fight.”

“Why?”

“To become the perfect tribute, so that they can win if they get chosen for the Games. Because winning the Games is the only important thing to these people.”

“Is that why you always have bruises?”

Marco nodded.

“Punch them in the nose next time, poke them in the eye. Kick them down there, even.”

Marco laughed. “That’s against the rules.”

“Who the hell cares about the rules?” Dani protested, “If they’re training so that they can kill weaker kids like us, who cares about playing fair?”

Dani had a good point.

~~

Dani spent most of the days hunting for rabbits and waterfowls and foraging for edible mushrooms, wild berries, and robin eggs. His family didn’t have enough money for food, that much was obvious. Marco helped as much as he could, gathering nuts and fruits on his side of the border that were small enough to fit through the openings in the fence.

“No, you’ll kill me with that!” Dani laughed at the mix of berries presented to him. “You’re not getting any better at this, are you?”

“Oh,” Marco frowned, “Not the green ones, you’ve told me that before. Sorry." 

Marco had spent a significant portion of his youth foraging as well, but the plant species in Madrid were different than those in Mallorca, and the dense forests offered more hidden dangers than Marco could ever have imagined.

“It’s okay,” Dani said, “But remember for your sake too. I worry more about you eating the wrong thing.”

~~ 

One evening, they found a hole in the fence that had been partially hidden by a leafy shrub. As the winter drew near and the leaves yellowed and fell, the aperture became more and more apparent.

“I think I can fit through this,” Dani said, pulling away at the brittle branches, “I think I can cross over.” 

“No way, it’s too small, even for you—” 

“Watch what you say, Asensio.”

“No, I’m serious. You won’t fit. It’s not worth it.” Dani might get a beating if anyone were to catch them. Both of them were risking a beating, to be perfectly honest.

“Don’t be a coward,” Dani teased, as he shrugged off his backpack and tattered leather jacket. He looked even thinner and smaller without it, wearing only a threadbare tank in the dead of winter. “I want to talk to you— _see_ you—without this damn fence between us. Don’t you want that too?”

“Of course, I do,” Marco said as Dani wiggled his way between the metal fence and the matted dirt beneath. Marco knelt beside Dani and pulled him through, feeling the weight of Dani’s body for the first time, the roughness of his palms, the lean muscle over trembling bones. “God, you’re freezing. Here, put this on.”

Marco shrugged off his own jacket and wrapped it around Dani, and they stayed like that for God knows how long—huddled against each other, laughing and grinning with their breaths fogging before them.

“I won’t cross over unless you’re here,” Dani reassured Marco, “I won’t get you into trouble. As long as we keep this between us, there’s no way anyone will find out. You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Marco smiled, “Of course.” 

~~

Marco saved his lunch so that he could give it to Dani. It wasn’t anything special, just a piece of bread with some sliced ham and cheese, but Dani watched the offering in disbelief, too shocked—or perhaps, afraid—to touch it. Food was strictly rationed, no matter which district you lived in, and the punishment for breaking any law, no matter how menial, was painful and severe.

“This is against the rules, you know?” Dani said, “You could get a beating.”

Marco raised his chin in defiance. “I’m not a coward.” 

~~

Marco kept his lunches for Dani almost everyday, and it was worth it—to go hungry for a couple of hours—so that his best friend didn’t starve. They maintained their routine for months, and Marco was confident that as long as they kept this among themselves, their friendship a secret, then nothing bad could ever happen. He and Dani promised each other every day, but it was Dani who broke the promise first.

~~ 

One day, when Marco wasn’t looking, Dani slipped a piece of bread into his pocket. He wanted to save it for his little sister and managed to smuggle it back into his town, before a neighbor caught him in the act.

Ten lashes was his punishment, as the peacekeepers stripped him bare and tied him in the village square, the inhabitants of their small town gathering before them, his mother and sisters weeping silently.

“Twenty more,” the peacekeeper announced, “Unless you tell us who gave you the bread.”

And Dani—through agony, terror, and treacherous tears—shook his head.

“Very well. Twenty more.” 

~~ 

Marco reached the border the next day, but Dani wasn’t there. He waited and waited until the sky turned black, and after that, he waited some more. He hid his lunch among the leaves by the opening of the fence and returned the next day to find the food still there, rotting from the summer heat and catching flies. He replaced the old bundle with a new one, and sat by the border and waited. Days bled into weeks, weeks into months.

Dani never came back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao sorry this is depressing, its only a beginning of a hunger games au that i have absolutely no time and no right to start given my mess of real life deadlines and already existing wips. but i want to leave it here nonetheless, because compulsive fic writing is simultaneously fun and ruining my life
> 
> thanks for reading, comments are loved, lmao bye


	2. The Reaping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao nothing like a world cup draw and a horrible real madrid performance to motivate me to work on this hunger games au. anyway, this is fun. i like fun. but more importantly, its fun to channel suffering into writing because there is nothing more painful than watching real madrid play right now.
> 
> thanks for reading, as always! reviews are loved xx

_In the penance for their uprising, each district shall offer of a male and a female between the ages of 12 and 18 at a public “Reaping.” These tributes shall be delivered to the custody of The Capitol, and then transferred to a public arena where they will Fight to the Death until a lone victor remains. Henceforth and forevermore, this pageant shall be known as The Hunger Games._

-The Treaty of Treason

~~

Dani was seventeen when his name was chosen from the reaping bowl. The escort assigned to _Andalucía_ wore glittering red, her silvery hair fashioned into an intricately braided bun. Her ruby lipstick was painted wider than her mouth, over smooth pale skin dusted with white powder. She smiled with all of her perfect, pearly teeth, motioning for Dani to approach the stage. The jubilance of her voice faded into echoes as Dani stood numbly beside the female tribute chosen only moments earlier, a girl even younger and frailer than him, who fought the tears glassing her dark, doleful eyes.

From the stage, Dani could recognize his younger sister among the eligible females, his older sister and his mother buried in the crowd. He refused to look at their pale, defeated faces, his eyes blurry and unfocused as he stared ahead with nothing but the thumping of his own heart registering in his ears.

The escort beamed brightly as she joined arms with her brave young warriors, raising their hands to the ashen sky in a mocking gesture of celebration.

“Welcome to the 88th Annual Hunger Games! May the odds be ever in your favor.”

~~

Three minutes were all the time given for Dani to embrace his inconsolable mother, his weeping sisters. “It’s okay. Don’t cry for me. It’ll be okay.”

Dani knelt before Salome and held her wind-chapped face, wiping away the hot tears streaking her cheeks. “No matter what, don’t trade your name in for extra food. It’s not worth it. Promise me you won't.”

Dani made Salome promise, but he knew it was worthless, that he was a hypocrite for even making the suggesting. His name was in the reaping bowl 30 times before he was finally chosen. And with only Salome eligible for the games, and Dani most certainly gone, there were few options left for his family to escape starvation.

“Maybe you can win,” Salome wept into his shoulder, “Maybe you will come back.”

“Maybe,” Dani braved his best smile, “I’ll try my best.”

There was no point in lying, but Dani could not bring himself to acknowledge the truth, not in front of his family during the few moments they have left together. Only two tributes from _Andalucía_ had ever won in the history of the Hunger Games, none of whom were alive to witness the horrors today. And in the past two decades, the wealthiest two districts had dominated the Games, the victors always emerging from one region or the other. Dani harbored as much hope for returning as a prisoner on death row.

Three minutes were not enough to bid farewell, but three minutes was all the time given, before the peacekeepers ripped his family from his arms, leaving Dani alone with nothing but silence followed by hollow dread.

~~

The Victor’s Village in Madrid was one of the most glamorous villages across Spain, the private homes adorned with gold gilded roofs and marble pillars, the walls painted in royal, stainless white. The district of _Castilla la Nueva_ boasted the record number of victors —33 and counting— all of whom were Career tributes trained for combat since the onset of their adolescence. And when the time came for the reaping, the best of the best would volunteer, perceiving the Games as one of the greatest honors to be bestowed upon the youths of their district. The current head Mentor was Zinedine Zidane, the victor of the 73rd Hunger Games. And under his guidance throughout the years—both indirect and direct— _La Nueva_ had celebrated Victors from the 77th, 78th, 83rd, and 87th Hunger Games.

Marco kept a steady pace as he traversed the arching corridors, accompanied by two peacekeepers who followed close to his heels. When he finally reached his destination—the training halls which held a meeting that he had taken great efforts to participate—Marco found himself before the calculating eyes of Zidane, the curious bemusement of past victors Cristiano Ronaldo and Isco Alarcón, and the scornful sneer of this year’s Career tributes, both former classmates of Marco’s.

Garnering the valuable attention of his audience, Marco wasted little time to cut to the point, his voice calm and clear as it reverberated along the walls of the training hall.

“My name is Marco Asensio, and I would like to volunteer as tribute for _Castilla la Nueva_. _”_

The silence that followed felt deafening, before Zidane finally responded to the unprecedented request, his steely eyes an impenetrable barrier to the thoughts circling in his intelligent mind.

“Your gesture is very honorable, Mr. Asensio, but you know this is not how things work in our district. Only the strongest and most deserving tributes earn the right of participating in the Games.”

“I understand,” Marco said, as he slowly raised his arm in defiance, extending a pointed finger to the male tribute beside Zidane. “I wish to challenge Theo for his title as tribute.”

~~

“The reaping this year was quite the bore, don’t you think?” Dani’s stylist, a young Capitol woman with gold painted skin and faux ivory lashes, mused in her nonchalant, sing-song voice as she slicked back his unruly hair with copious amounts of gel. “Did you watch it all until the end?”

“No,” Dani said, but he wondered why he bothered to respond. He despised this woman for her ignorance as she danced around him in a manner that was almost innocent, as if it was beyond her empathy or comprehension that the clothes she tailored and the eyelids she painted belonged to a boy who was about to die.

“One boy volunteered,” the stylist giggled, “A boy from Madrid—Oh, what was his name now? I’m totally blanking!”

The garments she had chosen for him was mostly black, accented with shimmers of green around the edges. It was meant as a hommage to the mountains and mines in _Andalucía_ and the rare, precious emeralds hidden among the coal.

“And you might say _oh, what’s so special about that_?” the woman continued in her meaningless, one-sided chatter, “La Nueva always volunteered their Careers. But this boy wasn’t chosen as Career, you see? He challenged the male tribute for the spot _after_ the district had nominated their volunteers, and he won! Isn’t that exciting?”

Dani did not respond as she tilted his chin upwards, adding the final touches to his brows. Who in their twisted, despicable, _sadistic_ mind would exhort such exceeding effort to participate in a meaningless ritual of violence and suffering?

The stylist smiled as she admired her handiwork. “Perfect!” she announced finally, her voice brimming with excitement, “You look amazing, darling! Even the girls and boys of Madrid will shower you with envy.”

She turned the mirror towards Dani as he clenched his fists with barely contained rage, fighting the urge to smear the glittering black and speckled emerald painted over his eyes.

~~

Dani didn’t learn the names of the other tributes until he was loaded onto the parade chariot beside his female counterpart, decorated in matching ebony and emerald green. The Career tributes were announced first, starting with the pair from _La Nueva._ When Dani finally recognized Marco’s name, he felt white-hot anger blinding his vision, bitterness and disgust churning so violently in his stomach that he fought the taste of bile as the chariot propelled him through the fiercely bright Capitol.

Once they reached the grand stage, Dani broke away from the line of tributes, wiping away the paint around his eyes and ripping his hair free from the confines of hardened gel. He tore away his costume with unprecedented strength, standing only in black trousers before the announcers, the gamemakers, and the audience of the Capitol, whom all gasped in unison, appalled by his unruly behavior.

But Dani’s eyes sought no one else but Marco, the young male from Madrid clad in royal white and shimmering gold. Dani's body shook with anger, pain and betrayal ripping from his throat. “It was _you_? You were the volunteer? I—I protected you all these years, and you volunteered to be _here_? How—how could you do this?”

Marco watched him from the elevated stage designated for the Careers, his eyes widening beneath gold dusted makeup. He detached from the other Careers, mirroring Dani’s motions as he wiped away the colors around his eyes, removed the golden crown and other garnish props that dangled off his body, tossing them aside.

He descended to where Dani stood, saying nothing as he rested his hands along Dani’s forearms. Dani wanted to recoil from the touch, wanted to punch Marco in the face and scream, but before he could react in any way, Marco wrapped his arms around him, pulling Dani into an air-tight embrace.


	3. The Interview

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol i always start fics that i regret later. trying to power through this as quickly as possible before i lose momentum again. thanks for stopping by, as always! reviews are loved xx

The train tracks sprawled across the districts of Spain like the radials of a large spider’s web, the silver threads joining at the center where the metallic Capitol arched and glistened brightly beneath the beating sun. Marco ate his breakfast in a garnish but empty train cabin, the forests of _Castilla la Nueva_ rushing past him in a blur of mahogany and green, propelling him closer to the destiny he had carved for himself.

Zidane entered the cabin, just as Marco wondered if he would spend the rest of the trip alone. “Good morning, Marco,” the head Mentor greeted.

“Good morning, sir,” Marco stood up, “Th—Thank you, again, for allowing me to come to the Capitol.”

“No need for that,” Zidane waved a dismissive hand, “I am a man of my words. And I hold my students to the same standards.”

Theo had wagered his position in the Games, and he had lost. His rashness swayed him to accept Marco’s challenge too quickly, without consulting his partner or any of his mentors present. His arrogance caused him to overlook Marco, underestimating the resolve of a boy who fought for hope rather than glory, who was willing to give up everything for the chance to save an old friend. Zidane beared witness to Marco’s emphatic performance and lent a ear to his woes. He must have decided that Marco would make a worthy apprentice as well.

“I’m scared,” Marco admitted, head bowing as he clasped his hands tightly around a porcelain coffee cup.

“That’s very fine,” said Zidane, “As long as you don’t regret your decision.”

“No, of course not,” Marco looked up. “I’m just scared that—this might all be worthless in the end. There have never been two victors from different districts before.”

“True,” Zidane mused, stirring cream into his coffee, “However, you have a remarkable story to offer.”

“It’s not just a story.” Marco frowned as he watched the wildwoods in motion, the filtered sun spilling through the windows and reflecting off the fine silverware spread between them.

“Nothing is ever _just_ a story,” Zidane said sternly, “But you will need to tell your story, and tell it well. You will need to make these people feel something they have not felt in a very long time.”

~~

Zidane did not train Marco. After Theo’s withdrawal from the competition, the female Career of _La Nueva_ requested to be trained alone, and Zidane was responsible for her preparation first and foremost. Marco would instead be co-mentored by Zidane’s trusted students, the two newest victors to bring honor to _La Nueva_.

Cristiano and Isco were polar opposites, but they seemed to genuinely get along as they devised their strategy to help Marco. Cristiano was sharp, statuesque, and broodingly handsome—the confident arch of his brows and his devastating smile almost made for victory parades, tabloid covers, and bronze busts dedicated to his glory. Isco, on the other hand, was small and devious—lackadaisical with his scruffy beard and unkempt hair, boyishly charming when his grin reached his shining eyes. He always looked as if he had just rolled out of bed.

“Can’t really blame Adriana for hating your guts,” Isco said through a mouthful of pasta, as he, Cristiano, and Marco shared dinner later that evening, “You really threw a wrench in her plans.”

“How?” asked Marco.

“Rare exceptions have been made in the past,” Cristiano explained, “To accommodate star-crossed lovers from the same district, so that two victors could be crowned. And Adriana and Theo—well, they are lovers.”

“Can they really be star-crossed if they both volunteered for this?”

“I suppose not,” Cristiano laughed, “But then again, this is acting. This is theatre. If the audience falls for you, believes your story, it will only help.”

Marco stared at his plate, the bitter twinge in his mouth lessening his appetite. “How am I supposed to cater to an audience who are excited to watch innocent people die.”

“Well, that’s where we come in,” Isco quipped as he motioned for the younger male to pass the salt, “Can’t exactly say you’re in better hands with us, because Zizou knows his stuff better than anyone. But we have a few tricks up our sleeves. We can teach you a thing or two.”

~~

After the chariot parade, the tributes of each district were escorted—quickly and efficiently—to their temporary residences, giving Marco no chance to even catch a glimpse of Dani again. He found Isco, Cristiano, and Zidane congregated in the common area of their lavish living quarters, covertly discussing the unexpected turn of events.

Isco was the first to notice Marco approaching. “Your friend sure is a wildcard, isn’t he?”

“I—I’m sorry,” Marco stammered nervously, “I didn’t know what to do.”

Marco didn’t anticipate an outburst from Dani right from the beginning, completely disrupting the opening ceremony and yelling at Marco in front of the entire audience of Spain. Marco was unprepared to face such uncontained rage, such inconsolable pain from his childhood friend. It had been almost five years since he had seen Dani last, and frankly, Marco didn’t know what to expect.

“You did what was best for him,” Cristiano said, “You made it clear that you’re on his side.”

“But your friend needs to calm down,” Isco protested hotly, “We want to bend the rules without them realizing, exploit emotions without their brains catching on. There needs to be _some_ degree of subtlety.”

“I wish I can talk to him,” Marco clenched his hands helplessly. “So that he knows I’m here because of _him._ I didn’t get a chance to tell him anything.”

“And you won’t until the final training session,” Cristiano said, “Judging by the way the Games are formatted this year.”

“Your interview is next,” Zidane finally spoke as all eyes fell to him, “The tributes from _La Nueva_ are always first.”

This was Marco’s chance to answer questions, Zidane explained, to do damage control in front of the same audience that saw what had transpired today. Marco would need to charm the people of the Capitol, while at the same time, send a message to Dani that he is here to help rather than to hurt, that he still believed their friendship was special and worth this life-risking decision.

“You are telling the beginning of a story to these people,” Zidane said carefully, “A story that will change the rules of the Game. And you friend needs to realize that he has to tell the end of it.”

~~

Dani watched the interviews from the large screen in the waiting rooms, as he and the other tributes counted down to their turns. The Careers of _La Nueva_ greeted the audience first, the female followed by the male. Marco mounted the stage in a fitted white suit—stylish and elegant in its simplicity. The camera centered on his face as he smiled and waved, the spotlights dancing in the dark irises of his eyes.

“I was not a _Madrileño_ originally. I was born on the island of Mallorca, and my family moved to _La Nueva_ when I was twelve.

The host asked Marco the burning questions that have plagued the audience since his reunion with Dani. And listening to Marco yield to the coercion of the Capital, sharing their past with the rest of the world—his words taunted Dani like bitter betrayal.

“Dani and I met at the border. We were both young—he is half a year younger than me. We didn’t know any better.”

Marco talked about how they were drawn to each other right from the beginning, how well they understood each other’s respective struggles, how thankful Marco felt to have met Dani during a difficult part of his childhood when genuine friendship seemed impossibly rare.

“My family was not rich, but we had more than enough to survive. I began saving my lunches for Dani.”

“So you skipped lunch almost everyday?” asked the host, “Was it difficult to get through the school days?”

“Yes, of course,” Marco laughed, “Combat training was always in the afternoons, and—well, I had my ass handed to me every time.”

The camera panned to the audience, their painted faces captivated by the charming, young man on stage. Dani watched in disgust as they laughed at his jokes, uttered sounds of sympathy during the sad parts, cheered in response to cues of excitement or hope. These weren’t real people, thought Dani. At most, they were props and sound effects, cheap imitations of humans inside decorated, hollow bodies.

“But one day,” Marco paused as his smile faded, lashes casting shadows over solemn eyes, as his listeners shifted ever closer to the edges of their seats. “One day, Dani was just _gone_. He never came back, and I didn’t know why. I still don’t know why. I waited for him, for years.”

“But now, you are reunited at the Games.”

“I volunteered for the Games,” Marco reiterated the well-known fact, “I defeated the original Career chosen and earned my place here. I didn’t want to watch Dani fight, suffer, or die alone. I came here to fight alongside him, to protect him.”

“But the Games are designed so that only one victor is crowned.”

“I know, “ Marco replied, “But exceptions have been made in the past for tributes from the same district. Why should it not be the case for tributes from different districts?”

“Ah, you mean for the ill-fated, star-crossed lovers,” the host arched a curious brow, as Marco nodded. “So are you insinuating that you two are lovers?”

“Oh, I—uh— _no_ , I mean—” Marco stammered, his tanned skin tingeing red beneath the scrutiny of cameras, much to the delight of his audience. He quickly gathered himself, before smiling, “We were good friends— _more_ than good friends. We were like brothers.”

“Sure, _brothers_ ,” the host teased as the audience laughed. “Well, I wish you the best of luck. Let’s give it up for Marco Asensio of _Castilla la Nueva_!”

The screen faded to back even as the audience continued to applaud. Dani shifted awkwardly in his seat as he felt several eyes falling to him, murmurs filling their small, windowless room.

“I can’t tell if that was staged for not,” a stylist behind him whispered to another, “But that kid is good.”

~~

By the time Dani’s turn came, the audience was teeming with anticipation, their excitement and curiosity barely contained as they erupted into cheers. They welcomed Dani jubilantly, as he walked across the stage with a flipping stomach and weakened knees, his hands shaking from nervousness. He winced as the spotlight fell on him, blinding him while making him visible to the millions of eyes watching.

The first part of the interview was easy enough—simply a confirmation of Marco’s story. There wasn’t much Dani could do, and he felt helpless as if his soul had been laid bare, or at least, half of his soul that he inevidently shared with Marco.

“You must tell us your side of the story,” the host probed him, “The missing pieces. Why did you stop coming to the border?”

“I was caught,” Dani responded curtly, “And I was punished for it. I didn’t want to come back so they could catch Marco too.”

“You did this to protect him,” the host repeated, his sympathy excessive. “That was very noble of you.”

“Yes,” Dani responded through gritted teeth.

“What was your reaction when you saw Marco here, after all these years?”

“I was angry. I didn’t want to see him here.” _Much less volunteer_ , he thought bitterly. “I don’t want to see him hurt or killed.”

“So you still consider him a friend, someone you care about.”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“What about brothers?” the host teased, “Lovers?”

Dani frowned, detesting the man before him, the audience around them. He refused to play into their farce, but his circumstances gave him little options otherwise. “Five years is a long time. We’re both different people now. I—I honestly don’t know.”


	4. The Bloodbath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think there are some funny bits? maybe idk? but i had fun writing this
> 
> thanks for reading. comments are loved, as always <3

_“Attention tributes. We have made a slight change to the format of the Games. Tributes will now be trained privately by their mentors. Only during the Games will they interact with tributes from other districts. Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor.”_

~~

The Gamemakers had grown suspicious. That was the only explanation Marco could think of. Why else would they implement this new rule that would prevent him from even _talking_ to Dani before they are both thrown into the lion’s den? It was a strategy to limit their coordination, to delay their inevitable alliance. Cristiano and Isco had reached similar conclusions as well.

Marco paced about the common area of their residence, waiting for his mentors to return from a meeting with an important sponsor. He felt at a loss, nervousness and fear coursing through him in pendulous waves, the obstacles and dangers standing between him and Dani appearing even more insurmountable since the changing of the rules.

A silver dagger flashed across his vision, grazing the tips of his hair, and before Marco could even react, he was suddenly pinned against the nearest wall by the solid pressure of a forearm against his neck.

He gaped helplessly, panic rising as his lungs screamed for oxygen. Adriana’s face was so close to his that he could feel her breath, recognize the anger in her steel, gray eyes, the vicious turn of her ruby lips.

She dislodged her dagger from the wall, before pressing the sharp edge dangerously against his Adam’s apple.

“Are you proud of yourself and your little charade?” she spat.

The new rule implemented by the Gamemakers would certainly benefit some and harm others, especially those aiming to scope out the competition, to form alliances before the start of the Games. The Careers of _Catalonia_ would gain the upper hand, their alliance already solidified as per tradition, while _La Nueva_ would face an additional obstacle, given Marco’s decision to usurp his position in the Games and leaving Adriana without her desired partner.

Marco did feel a twinge of guilt, acknowledging the consequences of his actions and how it had caused unintended harm to others. The possibility of an alliance with Adriana crossed his mind briefly when they traveled to the Capitol together, but her pride, anger, and unabashed hatred for Marco quickly diminished such whimsical thoughts.

Marco gasped for air, his eyes watering as he clawed at his assailant’s leather bound arm, and Adriana relented ever so subtly, knowing she could not deal any permanent damage to Marco, at least not before the Games.

“You may have tricked Cristiano, Isco, and even Zidane with that sob story of yours,” she whispered to him, “But I’m not about to let you ruin my chance at victory. Don’t think I won’t kill you the first opportunity I get.”

~~

“Hey, _hey_ , come here.”

Dani looked around in bemusement, before confirming that he was indeed alone and the suspicious whispering from the camouflage wall was directed towards him. He approached the woodland structure with caution, as the leaves and branches shifted to reveal a person in disguise.

“I can’t take this off. Need it for later,” the camouflaged male gestured to his painted face, which donned the uncanny texture of a tree trunk, “Pretty cool, isn’t it? I look just like a tree.”

“Who— _are you_?” Dani stared at the stranger before him.

“Isco, the victor from last year,” the male introduced himself, “I’m sure you’d recognize me without all of this. I’m here on behalf of Marco.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Dani looked around for any Gamemakers nearby, knowing they would not take lightly any disobedience to their newly implemented rule.

“Yes, I am aware,” Isco’s response was almost nonchalant, “This isn’t exactly my choice of casual wear, you know? Anyway, listen carefully because I don’t have much time. Once the Games start, you need to get somewhere safe and find Marco as soon as possible. Don’t go for the resources at the Cornucopia. Avoid the bloodbath. Run for the forests instead.”

Dani narrowed his eyes as Isco watched him expectantly. “Why should I trust you?”

“If I wanted you dead, I would encourage you to go _into_ the Cornucopia,” Isco rolled his eyes, “It’s called a bloodbath for a reason. Christ, I imagined you to be a little more grateful for our help.”

“I never asked for your help.”

“Well, you sure could use it,” Isco made a show of eyeing Dani from head to toe, his expression unimpressed. “Look, I don’t know anything about you, but I’m here to help Marco, who—quite frankly—is _very_ invested in your wellbeing. I’m not telling you to do anything outrageous. Just find a safe place as soon as possible.”

“Who’s there?” Came a third voice, and Isco cursed under his breath as one of the Gamemakers approached. “What district do you belong to?”

“ _Andalucía_ ,” Dani responded.

“ _Castilla la Nueva_ ,” said Isco, “I’m a mentor, though.”

“What are you doing here?” the Gamemaker demanded.

“You know,” Isco attempted to sound casual, his audaciousness both impressive and galling, “Just trying to spread some wisdom.”

“To a tribute from _Andalucía_?”

“To anyone willing to listen. And it just so happened that Dani was the only one interested. Camouflage really is an under-appreciated trade, don’t you think?”

Isco straighten some of his leaves before stepping back into the wall, merging seamlessly into the forest display. “Watch this, I look just like a tree.”

After a few more moments of shuffling, the Gamemaker grew impatient.

“Alright, get out of there,” he demanded, pushing past the shrubs and leafy branches to reveal a door behind the camouflage wall that opened to a secret hallway. And of course, by then, Isco had already escaped.

~~

“How did it go?” Marco leapt from the couch the moment Isco stepped out of the elevator, foliage and broken twigs trailing behind him.

“Not great,” Isco said as he wiped away his face paint, “They caught me, but I did manage to get the message to Dani.”

“They caught you?” Marco’s heart dropped. “Will you be okay?”

“Yeah, of course.” Isco waved away his concerns. “I’m a past victor from _La Nueva_. What more could they do to me? But they might take it out on you, though.”

“I’m sure they already are,” Marco sighed as he sank back into the couch, the screen before him replaying scenes— _highlights_ —from a previous Hunger Game, where the star-crossed lovers of _Catalonia_ emerged victorious at the Cornucopia. The handsome Gerard smiled in both triumph and relief as he embraced his beautiful Shakira, the camera fading to celebrations from all across Spain, as the citizens rejoiced the victory of the two young lovers.

~~

Dani tossed and turned the night away as he counted the hours before dawn, before the commencement of the Games where his life would most certainly end in the most morbid and brutal of ways. He dreamed about his sisters, his mother, and the shadowy figure of a father whom they had lost when he was too young to understand what loss was. He dreamed about school days and football and the first girl he had ever kissed beneath the swing set of an old playground. He dreamed of hunting fowls and chasing rabbits and comforting a crying boy from beyond the border of _Andalucía_. He dreamed of gripping Marco’s hands through the fence as they joked and laughed, remembering how Marco’s hands had always been warm.

~~

Dani stood on his designated podium, facing the grotesque, metal structure of the Cornucopia that held food, supplies, and a plethora of weapons designed to kill both efficiently and creatively. The tributes waited in silence for the countdown, and out of the corner of his eye, Dani could see Marco a few podiums away, straining to make eye contact. Dani reluctantly turned to him.

Marco was mouthing the word _run_ and tilting his head in the direction of the forest. Dani nodded, feeling somewhat aggravated by the unnecessary gesticulations, considering Isco had already disclosed the same information two days prior. Subtlety obviously was not their strong suit.

A crackle of fireworks marked the start of the Games, as Dani leapt off his podium, making a dash for the forest. However, in his peripheral vision, he saw Marco running in the opposite direction, towards the Cornucopia rather than away.

Confused, Dani halted in his stride, just as Marco turned around to chance a glance at his friend.

“Go! Get out of here!” Marco had the nerve to wave his arms, shouting, “I’ll find you!”

Dani felt his blood simmer, upon realizing that Marco had every intention of going into the bloodbath, and his advice for finding safety was for Dani, and for Dani alone.

Dani turned and made a run for the Cornucopia, because _hell_ was he going to hide like a coward while Marco risked his life for both of them.

Another tribute spotted him, just as Dani reached the edge of the scattered resources. The male lunged towards him with a dagger, and Dani managed to dodge the initial attack, losing balance and falling backwards in the process. Instinctively, he grappled at the dusty terrain beneath, evading a second strike before tossing a fistful of sand into his attacker’s eyes. He then crashed his forehead into the male’s nose, drawing splatters of blood as the tribute faltered, stunned.

Once he gained the upper hand, Dani wrestled the dagger away, but before he could retaliate, he spotted Marco at the center of the Cornucopia, rummaging through the resources and completely oblivious to another tribute approaching from behind.

Dani threw his dagger instead, lodging it into the tribute’s shoulder. It was not a fatal blow, but he did manage to alert Marco, just as his own assailant kicked his legs out from underneath him and wrestled him to the ground. Dani felt strong hands wrap around his throat, as he flailed helplessly, his vision darkening at the edges.

Two flashes of silver, and suddenly, the pressure was gone. Dani gagged and coughed as air rushed into his lungs, barely recognizing Marco as he ran towards him, backpack over one shoulder, bow and arrow over the other.

Dani pushed himself to stand, grabbing the bag abandoned by the fallen tribute. Marco took Dani’s hand once he reached him, pulling Dani into the momentum of a full sprint as they escaped the bloodshed of the Cornucopia and entered the shadowed safety of the forest.


End file.
